


The Hunger Songfic Challenge 3: David Bowie - Heroes

by BellaFuckingRockwell



Series: Bella's 10 Songfics for 10 Songs Challenge [3]
Category: David Bowie (Musician), The Hunger (TV 1997)
Genre: Angst, dark themes, non-graphic violence references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 17:23:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20295208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFuckingRockwell/pseuds/BellaFuckingRockwell
Summary: I've done an old exercise that used to rattle around the LiveJournal fic communities. The exercise is that you put your music library on shuffle and you write a fic in a certain fandom based on the first 10 songs that come up. They're usually meant to be drabbles, but I personally don't do drabbles bc I'm a verbose mf so they're just a bunch of short fics instead. My chosen fandom is The Hunger TV show and pairing throughout is Julian/Drew. They're loosely linked but aren't meant to be linear. I've also been pretty liberal with some of them in terms of how much they're actually based on the song!As it's The Hunger, the themes throughout are pretty fucking dark and potentially triggering in places. I'll post separate warnings for each one, but as a rule they're pretty much all NSFW for violence and/or smut (varying degrees of graphic). 18+ only, should go without saying.DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing. The characters and settings do not belong to me. I'm merely a little fish in a big pond trying to amuse myself. Good day Sir.Synopsis: Julian tries to enjoy a night off with Drew. Angsty kind of rambling with fluff if you look hard enough? There was an attempt at fluff…





	The Hunger Songfic Challenge 3: David Bowie - Heroes

Suffering is a pastime of Julian's. He enjoys watching it, inflicting it, experiencing it. But of course, you can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes it's nice to take a break. Do something ordinary, like listen to some music and drink some wine with a pretty girl. Hang out in the cell block he goes to for rare periods of relaxation, far as possible from his workshop, his gruesome pieces, the closest thing to getting away he can manage, because he's loathe to leave the penitentiary altogether these days unless he really has to. It's been weeks. Maybe months. But this, is enough of a holiday. This will do.  
Drew is drunk, and she's dancing, badly, unsteady on her feet. She looks so free, her eyes closed, a lazy smile on her mouth. She's a nice, simple girl at heart, or at least she was once. Until him. Jail surroundings aside, a casual observer would think nothing of this scene, a man laughing with his lover as she pulls silly moves, the wine from her glass sloshing down her fingers. They'd never believe that Drew has horrific nightmares; that she startles him awake every night with her screaming, until he tackles her back into bed and strokes her hair while she clings to him and sobs. That he hates himself for doing this to her, warping her mind with his work, frightening her to death with the chaos and self-destruction of his meltdowns, muttering threats in her ear when they fuck that leave her clawing at him and whimpering in terror. He doesn't mean to do it, not when she's so precious to him, but does he ever mean to take things as far as they go? Drew isn't meant to suffer, and if he was stronger, Julian would give anything to spare her from him. Anything, that is, but let her go.  
She shimmies towards him, her lips stained red, her big blue eyes giddy with love and alcohol's euphoria. He slides his arms around her waist as she straddles his lap, returning her gentle kiss. She makes him feel so... normal. Nights like this are rare, but they're enough, fuel to keep him going, just a little longer. Nights where he can forget that he's Julian Priest, sometimes a hero, usually a deranged psychopath, depending on where the press are standing on any given week. He can forget how much he cares about what the world thinks of him, how he craves the notoriety, more and more and fucking more; how wanting it, getting it, then starting the process all over again is completely destroying him. It has been for years. But Drew... she's respite from all that.   
The wine has gone to his head a little too, and he feels dazed, his edges softened. Just one night. That's all he needs.  
He holds onto her a little tighter, with a little more urgency, as her soft lips brush his forehead. She makes him feel invincible, yet she might be the only person on earth who knows that he's not. It's a dangerous thing, a hazard to both of them, that she has such information, and he wonders if it tempts her to hurt him. Then again, she isn't like him; she can love him without quietly demolishing him, a simple thing, really, a given, but something that Julian just isn't capable of in return. Sometimes it seems as though nothing will drive her away, but he knows this is a fantasy. One day, eventually, there'll be something. One day, she'll wake up.  
Thankfully, wine is almost as potent a numbing agent as she is to such thoughts, such neuroses. She runs the tip of her tongue along her lip and giggles at her own ineptitude in flirting. She tries for a husky voice instead: “Are you going to take me to bed?”  
“Soon, sweetheart.” Julian can't help but smile, and wonders why he's resisting it anyway. She's enchanting, so pure, even in her intoxicated state. “I want to watch more of your dancing first.”  
Drew grins. She holds him to steady herself as she gets to her feet, and Julian covers his mouth to hide his mirth as she starts to grind her hips, swaying, throwing herself off balance as she tries to pull her shirt over her head. She topples, falling back into his lap, and as he catches her they collapse into peels of laughter. He feels as though he could never fall again; that he can pretend, just for one night, that he can accept and cherish and share the love she gives so effortlessly. The love that he craves even more than the fame. As their laughter gives way to a long embrace, he inhales her scent, a cocktail of perfume and sweat and booze, and he vows to himself that things will be different from now on. Because she stays, despite everything, she fucking stays, and he wants to throw himself at her feet and grovel his gratitude.


End file.
